The Fields of Lemuria

by Sam Sisavath

  “It’s awfully reasonable of you and doesn’t sound like the maniac who’s been stalking me for the last three months at all.”

  Pollard laughed through the radio. “Five o’clock, Keo. You have until then before I put a bullet in the back of Norris’s head.”

  The radio went silent.

  Keo clipped it back to his hip and walked on.

  He didn’t hear anything else through the radio for the next thirty minutes as he picked his way cautiously through the woods, making as little noise as possible. He stopped every now and then to listen for approaching footsteps. It didn’t surprise him that he couldn’t hear any more back and forth on the radio. Pollard had recalled his patrols, and they were getting the new frequency in person back at their base right now.

  Pollard wasn’t a dummy. Far from it. Which meant saving Norris had just gotten much, much harder. Not that it hadn’t been before, but now…well, now his chances really sucked. At least, if his goal was to save the ex-cop and get out of this alive.

  That was, of course, the ideal outcome. A dead man couldn’t very well join Gillian at Santa Marie Island, could he?

  His watch ticked to 2:25 p.m.

  Just a little more than five hours until nightfall, but less than three hours until Pollard ended Norris’s existence with a bullet to the back of the head. Keo didn’t doubt the man would do just that if he didn’t show up at five.

  2:26 p.m.

  Running out of time…

  CHAPTER 10

  He waited over an hour before the first patrol finally stumbled across him. Keo watched them walking in front of him, oblivious to his presence. He didn’t blame them for not noticing. He hadn’t moved in over thirty minutes, and he wasn’t entirely certain his legs would react the way he wanted them to when the time came.

  Fortunately when it was time his body responded just fine, and he pushed himself up with his left arm. His right was gripping the MP5SD, and Keo rose to his knees and took aim from behind the bush.

  Two men. Black-clad. Army boots. Assault rifles in front of them.

  They had been very quiet, and he wouldn’t have heard them coming if they hadn’t been walking less than ten meters from where he was lying. He couldn’t see their faces, and frankly, he wasn’t interested in finding out what they looked like. He had learned long ago that it was easier to kill a man when you didn’t bother learning his life story.

  He shot the first one in the back of the head, the sound of his gunshot equal to that of a cough, but still loud enough to make a bird above him take flight. There was no echo, which was the point of having a built-in suppressor.

  As the man collapsed, Keo swiveled to the right and shot the second one in the throat. He was aiming for the head, but the man was in the process of going into a crouch when he saw his buddy go down. A throat shot was just as good, though, and the man was bleeding and gagging as he sank to his knees.

  Keo rushed forward, checking around him for signs of another patrol. When he was sure there wasn’t one more in the area, he returned his attention to the two men. One was on the ground on his stomach while the other was on his back, still alive. Both of his hands were wrapped tightly around his throat, trying in vain to stop the blood gushing through his fingers.

  He shot the man twice in the chest to put him out of his misery.

  The second one had bled all over his clothes, which made him a lost cause. The first one, except for the hole in the back of his head, was for the most part spotless. Keo did his best to ignore the blood trickling out of the man’s forehead, where the 9mm round had exited, as he stripped him of his assault vest, then shirt, pants, and boots.

  Even as he swapped out his T-shirt and pants for the dead man’s clothes, Keo wasn’t entirely convinced just looking the part was going to get him any closer to Pollard without being shot on sight. After all, the two in the last patrol had gunned down both Fiona and Rupert anyway, even though they were clearly dressed as one of them. Still, having something that could potentially be an advantage was better than nothing. Or, at least, that’s what he told himself.

  He collected the two dead men’s weapons—identical M16s, neither one with any sort of mounted optic. Which likely made these two part of Pollard’s more expendable soldiers. Hell, even Fiona and Rupert had the more mobile and fully-automatic M4s. The M16s were old and clunky and only capable of three-round burst firing.

  This is where Norris would grunt and say something like, “If we didn’t have bad luck, we wouldn’t have any luck at all.”

  Norris. He had to save Norris. Whatever happened from this moment on, he had to at least try. He owed the old-timer that much.

  Keo tossed one of the M16s and slung the other one, then shoved a couple of spare magazines into his pack. Any more and the bag would be too heavy. Right now, he needed mobility and speed.

  He grabbed one of the radios and headed off, still moving west toward the shoreline. North would take him right into Pollard’s stronghold and likely the bulk of the man’s forces. West took him around the shoreline, and if he was lucky, he would be able to circle all the way around and approach the park visitors’ building from the rear without being seen.

  If being the operative word, of course.

  *

  He thought about Gillian, sitting on the beach on Santa Marie Island in the Gulf of Mexico, just off Galveston, Texas. Long black hair glistening under the oppressive southwest heat. Soaking her toes in the cool water and smiling. Bright green eyes looking out at the ocean, waiting for a boat to arrive.

  He would be on that boat.

  And all he had to do to make that happen was survive today, then find a small enough boat that he could sail with just two people. A sailboat like Mark’s, so they wouldn’t need to scrounge up fuel for a motor.

  Yeah, shouldn’t be too hard.

  It took him until almost four in the afternoon to circle the park, using the western shoreline as a guide. Having to stay as far away from the roads, the parking lots, and the camping spots as possible contributed to the ticking clock. Robertson Park was ninety-five percent woods and five percent civilization, so it didn’t take a lot of effort to stay hidden; it just took a lot of time. That, unfortunately, was something he didn’t have in abundance these days, but today in particular.

  He knew he was close when he started hearing the roar of ATVs. He went into a crouch beside a large tree as the sound got louder. He didn’t have to wait long before three men on all-terrain vehicles appeared across the wide main road, which led into the park and curved its way through the woods.

  All three riders were wearing green and black paint over their faces, the barrels of rifles jutting out behind their shoulders. He was surprised to see them riding one-to-a-bike and not doubling up. He wondered what they would do if he stepped out into the road now and picked them off one by one.

  But that was a moot point, because the vehicles soon disappeared south down the road, leaving thick, swirling clouds of dust in their wake. They looked as if they were in a hurry and knew where they were going instead of just patrolling. Well, he had left two bodies somewhere down in that direction…

  He glanced at his watch: 4:15 p.m.

  Running out of time…

  Keo gave it a minute, waiting for more signs (and noises) of Pollard’s men. When he didn’t see or hear anything, he got up and raced across the open road. He didn’t breathe easier until he had reached the other side and was surrounded by trees and thick bushes again.

  He found an empty spot among some underbrush and stopped. Keo pulled out a thin black compact that was already inside the pack when he took it off its dead owner. It looked like something a woman would carry, with a mirror inside and three strips of color—mud brown, green leaf, and flat black. The sweat-resistant camo was durable and would stay on well into the night, though Keo didn’t think he would need it in about four more hours.

  When he was finished applying the paint to his face, Keo put the compact away, then stood up and con
tinued further into the woods. He walked for another twenty minutes, his progress less productive than he would have liked because he had to stop and hide at every noise he heard or thought he might have heard. He knew he was finally there when he picked up the sound of hammering in the afternoon air.

  Keo slowed down, then went back into a crouch behind a thick group of bushes near the edge of a clearing.

  So this is what it feels like to walk into the lion’s den…

  The park visitors’ center was really two separate buildings, both L-shaped, with the larger administrative one up front. Driveways led to the front and side doors, and from having stayed in the place previously, Keo knew there were more back doors. Most of the windows had already been boarded up, but a couple of men were hammering 2x4s over the last remaining section of a side window as he arrived.

  The parking lot was filled with vehicles, as expected. He counted twelve trucks, but there could have been more parked in other areas he couldn’t see. The ones he could see were caked with mud and dirt and showed obvious signs of heavy use. At least four of the vehicles had trailers attached (for the ATVs) and were big enough to haul at least four people comfortably, five or six if they felt like squeezing them in.

  He counted a dozen or so men standing guard outside, all of them keeping to the main building area. The second building, an old storage warehouse farther in the back, had zero activity around it. Keo paid close attention to the black-clad figures patrolling the roof of the main building with rifles. He spent a second wondering how they had gotten up there, or how they managed not to fall off the sloped rooftop, then decided he didn’t care.

  Keo had come out of the west side of the park, which gave him a good view of the buildings without being seen himself. The thick rows of bushes in front of him helped, too. He watched now as two ATVs (The same ones he had seen leave earlier? Maybe.) returned, cutting across the parking lot from the south and heading straight to the front twin doors. The entrance was about eighty meters from his position, with two men standing watch outside with AK-47s.

  “You have until five to decide. Or until my men find you. Whichever comes first.”

  He looked down at his watch: 4:46 p.m.

  Fourteen minutes until Pollard’s deadline.

  Keo unslung the M16 and laid it on the ground next to him. Then he went through his pouches and did a thorough inventory of his ammo. He had a feeling he was going to need every single bullet.

  4:47 p.m…

  *

  With exactly five minutes until five, there was a flurry of movement outside the building. Keo didn’t have to wait long to find out why.

  A tall man strolled outside in black pants, a black shirt, and a black tactical assault vest. The man may have looked like everyone else around him, but there was an obvious difference. It was in the way he moved and in the way he carried himself, even with just a sidearm in a hip holster when everyone else had an assault rifle.

  Pollard.

  Keo knew who it was even if he had never seen the man before.

  Pollard stopped a few meters from the front doors and looked around for a moment before glancing down at his watch—

  —4:56 p.m.—

  —then looking back and motioning toward the entrances.

  Norris.

  Keo didn’t need binoculars to know that the second man stumbling out of the building behind Pollard was Norris.

  He was still wearing the same white T-shirt and cargo pants from the day before, and he moved with obvious difficulty, and not just because his hands were bound in front of him. His head hung low, his chin resting against his chest for support as if he had trouble keeping it upright. A third man trailed behind Norris before catching up to him and grabbing him by the arm. At first Keo thought it was to restrain the ex-cop, but no, it was to keep him upright because Norris couldn’t stand on his own.

  “Pollard has people with him that know how to get information,” Fiona had told him. “Your friend’s in bad shape, Keo.”

  Pollard held up his hand, and the man holding Norris upright stopped.

  Keo watched as Pollard unclipped his radio, played with the dial, and then held it up to his lips. The radio clipped to Keo’s own hip squawked a second later, and Pollard’s voice came through. “Keo. It’s time.”

  The radio’s volume was turned down on purpose, but it was just loud enough for Keo to hear. He unclipped the radio but didn’t respond. He waited instead to see what Pollard would do next.

  “Are you there?” Pollard said. “I know you’re monitoring the new frequency. We didn’t find one of the radios on the two dead bodies you left behind a few hours ago. I had to change the frequency again. Half of my people are confused about which one to use now.”

  Keo pressed the transmit lever. “How many men do you have left now, Captain?”

  “Captain?” Pollard said, sounding amused.

  “Major?”

  “Close enough.”

  “Colonel.”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Nah. I was just curious.”

  “As to your question, I have more than enough,” Pollard said.

  “I bet I can whittle that number down a little further.”

  “I’m sure you could with your obvious skills and given enough time. Unfortunately, you’re running out of the latter. Or at least, your friend is.”

  Pollard beckoned with his free hand and Norris was led toward him. Pollard directed them where to go, and Norris was placed in front of the ex-Army officer.

  “You’re watching this right now, aren’t you?” Pollard said through the radio.

  Keo didn’t answer.

  Definitely not a dummy.

  Pollard looked around the clearing before expanding his search even further to both sides. The men on the rooftop seemed to catch on and peered down at their surroundings with more purpose. Keo instinctively moved closer to the bush in front of him and prayed that his position, combined with the dark clothes and face paint he had taken off Pollard’s people, made him blend in with his surroundings.

  “Of course you are,” Pollard continued. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have bothered answering in the first place. You’re not going to let your friend die without trying to do something about it. That’s laudable. The problem with that is, whatever you do, it won’t be enough.”

  “All of this just to avenge your son?” Keo said into the radio.

  “Why, you think I should do any less for him?”

  “Yes, actually.”

  “You’re not a father, or you wouldn’t have said that.”

  “You’re right, I’m not a father. But we both know your son had it coming.”

  Pollard didn’t answer right away. Keo saw him looking around and felt a bit of relief because the man was looking in the wrong direction. That relief quickly evaporated when he saw the men gathered in the parking lot starting to spread out, extending outward toward the edge of the clearing.

  Two of them were coming in his direction…

  “He was still my son,” Pollard said. “A life for a life, Keo. I would rather claim yours, but if I need to, I’ll take your friend’s, too.”

  “And if I give myself up, you’ll let Norris go?”

  “You have my word.”

  “The problem with that is I’m not sure what your word’s worth.”

  “It’s worth plenty. But I’m not going to justify myself to you. This has already dragged on long enough. My men are anxious to go back to Corden, and frankly, so am I.”

  “So go.”

  “Not until you’re dead,” Pollard said. Then, “You have one minute to come out of hiding.”

  Keo measured the distance between himself and Pollard all the way across the clearing a second time.

  Eighty meters? Ninety? Give or take.

  He looked down at the MP5SD. There was a reason he liked the German weapon. It was mobile and designed for close-quarter combat, and it was damn good at its job. That was the problem. Eighty or ni
nety meters wasn’t a particularly tough shot for a competent shooter armed with a rifle, but he had a submachine gun. Even with the mounted red dot sight, his chances of hitting Pollard from this distance was iffy, and Keo didn’t think he was going to get a second shot if he missed the first one.

  He slung the weapon and picked up the M16 instead. The American battle rifle was too long, too clumsy, and aesthetically ugly, but it had the Heckler & Koch beat in terms of distance and accuracy. Keo flicked the fire selector to semi-automatic and moved into a shooting position. Eighty meters for the M16 was child’s play, even for someone who wasn’t trained for sniping.

  Like me…

  Outside the building, Pollard drew his handgun and pressed it into the back of Norris’s head. The ex-cop didn’t move. Either he didn’t want to give Pollard the satisfaction, or he didn’t trust himself to move for fear of falling. God knew Norris could barely stand by himself in the first place.

  Keo took a deep breath and settled his right eye over the rear sight of the rifle before letting himself feel the rubber recoil pad at the end of the stock pressed against his shoulder. He eased his hand along the side of the pistol grip before slipping his forefinger into the trigger guard. His off hand wrapped around the fore end before sliding back a bit until he was comfortable with the grip.

  He raised the M16 just high enough to shoot over the bush in front of him, but not too high to be noticed by the sentries on the rooftops or the two guys still walking toward him. Fortunately for him, they didn’t know he was there and were taking their sweet time.

  “Keo, you still there?” Pollard said through the radio.

  Keo ignored him and sucked in a deep breath instead. He concentrated on remembering all those shooting lessons and tried to ignore the fact that he had never really had to shoot anyone from long distance. That was never part of his job description. His skills involved sterilizing buildings up close and personal, not knocking people off from a football field away.

  “Are you still listening, Keo?” Pollard continued. “I’m going to count to ten, then I’m going to execute Norris. He tells me he’s an ex-cop from Orlando. That’s too bad. I’ve always been an admirer of law enforcement. It’s a tough job.”